


What Do I Regret

by ThinkoftheWindandSun



Series: Prowl Week [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Minor Character Death, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23735125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkoftheWindandSun/pseuds/ThinkoftheWindandSun
Summary: Prowl boarded a ship to leave Cybertron and stay neutral in the growing war.He became an Autobot instead.
Series: Prowl Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709635
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32
Collections: Prowl Week





	What Do I Regret

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: i do not own transformers or any of its iterations.
> 
> Day 1 of Prowl Week: Crash

The klaxons went off with a horrible wail, so loud Prowl temporarily muted his audials. All around the ship shuddered. Smoke poured in through the vents.

“EMERGENCY. EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY. SHIP IS GOING DOWN,” scrolled across his HUD in bold letters, signed at the end with the captain's signature.

Prowl glanced down at the various clamps holding him in place. He looked over at the other passengers. All of them flailing ineffectually in their own clamps. Not a single one had released their occupant, as they were supposed to when an emergency occurred.

That wasn’t good.

He unlatched a panel in his hip and unspooled a cable from within. This he plugged into a conveniently located socket. Just within his arm’s reach when he strained. A rush of electricity and noisy feedback would have taken his feet out from under him if he were standing. As it was, he slumped in his seat.

If asked, Prowl would say that he wasn’t proficient in hacking. If one asked his old superiors, they would likely add more swear words. Because he was, frankly, abysmal at it. Too linear in his though processes.

But Enforcers were outfitted with special software for those who were incapable of hacking. Prowl hadn't exactly followed protocol and deleted it when he left. It was useful. Especially in the dangerous times they had found themselves.

If hacking was picking away at a fine net, then this was slashing at that net with a rusty knife. Not efficient. Not effective. Not particularly clean. But it worked.

And that was the point.

Tearing his way through firewalls and redundant lines of code meant to keep him out, Prowl accessed the ship's auxiliary controls. He stabbed at those for the clamps. Stabbing and sawing away at them with brutal force.

The clamps holding him down released with a reluctant clunk-hiss.

He tore his cable from the wall, threw himself across the shuttle, and plugged into the port next to the nearest trapped passenger. Only to begin the process anew.

If he could hack, he'd be able to activate the emergency release all at once. Free everyone with one decisive action. He couldn’t. And what he did was enough that the clamps would never work again.

Not that it seemed their shuttle would survive the oncoming crash. Already the external plating was peeling back, inertial dampened long dead and allowing them to feel the shaking of the vessel. If it made it to the ground intact it would be a miracle.

“Please,” gasped the mech next to him.

He dragged his focus back to the code swimming across his HUD. His software battered at it violently. It wasn’t any easier the second time around—couldn’t be, with his lacking skills—but it broke through eventually.

The clamps released. The passenger threw themselves out of their seat, slapped the emergency release for the back hatch. When it opened, they threw themselves out. Prowl sincerely hoped that the mech had a flight-based alt-mode.

There wasn’t time to wonder. He pushed himself up and over to the next seat. The air was being sucked out of the shuttle, small debris too, and it slowed every movement.

Even working as fast as he could, he only managed to save two more passengers before the ship began to literally tear itself apart. He hardly had time to plug his cable into the next port before sometime hard struck his helm.

Everything went dark.

Prowl came back online to the sound of wrenching metal and low, pleased laughter. His optics were mostly functional, if out of focus. He tried to move. Letting out a low noise of pain as his doorwing caught and twisted.

“What was that?” A deep voice snarled.

“Sounds like someone’s still alive,” said another.

He shuttered his optics, stilled his internal fans, and went limp. If he was as injured as he suspected, the energon would likely make him look dead. He hoped.

Whoever had shot them down wouldn’t take anything less.

It was terrifying to lay there. Listening to the dull clang of pedes on metal. Audials out of sync and making the sounds impossible to track. The effect was dizzying. He didn’t dare turn off his audials though. Not with the knowledge that there was a threat so near.

Indistinct murmuring got louder and louder. And then, just as he thought they might pass him by, the metal around him was wrenched apart. He choked out a pained cry, optics onlining in shock, as his doorwing as pulled with it. Dislocated.

“Ah, found him,” said the Decepticon leaning over him. “And look at that; he’s an enforcer.”

Venting harshly, Prowl stared up at him. He couldn’t move. The agony of his damaged and dislocated doorwing had frozen him in place. That, and terror. He was honestly terrified.

A huge servo reached down towards his face.

And he knew. He wasn’t going to survive this.

Energon sprayed through the air.

Prowl choked.

The Decepticon startled and turned, just in time to get a shard of metal embedded in his optic. He dropped to the ground, dead.

“Sorry,” said a weak voice.

Prowl cycled his optics.

Standing over him was one of the other passengers. Alive, obviously. And splattered with energon from the Decepticon.

Decepticons. Prowl corrected himself, spotting the body on the other side of the ship. Whose entire throat had been torn open. That explained the spray of energon.

“Are you alright?” The passenger asked.

“I’m alive,” said Prowl. He winced. “Which I believe is thanks you to—”

“Bodyfist,” he said.

“Bodyfist,” finished Prowl.

Not the most intimidating designation he had ever heard.

“Do you think, they’re dead?” Bodyfist asked.

“Yes,” said Prowl.

Bodyfist moaned and covered his face with his servos. Smearing energon everywhere. It didn’t seem that he cared in that moment.

“I can’t—I was going to be neutral! I can’t be an Autobot. I won’t,” said Bodyfist.

And killing a Decepticon, killing two, would end any dreams of being neutral. The Autobots would take him into custody. Interview him on the matter. And then turn him over to the authorities for murder, or fold him into their ranks and pass the deaths off as a necessity of war.

No matter what happened next, Bodyfist would suffer.

That didn’t sit right with Prowl. Not least because Bodyfist had only killed the Decepticons to keep Prowl safe.

He looked over Bodyfist slowly. Taking in the dents and the energon—some belonging to the Decepticons, some to him. The way Bodyfist held himself was both panicked and withdrawn. This was not a stoic killer. Or a soldier.

With a designation like Bodyfist, his function couldn’t be particularly violent. He wouldn’t survive as an Autobot.

“I won’t be an Autobot,” whispered Bodyfist again.

“You won’t,” agreed Prowl.

Slowly, he levered himself up to his feet. There was no chance of survival for Bodyfist. Not if that path was allowed.

But there was another option.

“When the Autobots come—” because they would, they always did when Decepticons were involved “—stay behind me and say nothing to them.”

“I. Okay,” said Bodyfist.

“And the one that snuffed the Decepticons?” Ironhide asked.

Bodyfist trembled.

Doorwings twitching, Prowl stepped forward. His battle computer was running hot in his helm. Spewing probabilities that he had little time to review.

He said, “I did.”

His servos were still dripping energon. It was equal parts his and the other passengers’, none of it belonged to the Decepticons. There was no way the Autobot would be able to tell. He didn’t have the markings of an enforcer—even one retired—and the splatter patterns could easily have been obscured by the other energon.

Prowl had already made sure that Bodyfist didn’t look the part of a killer. Easy enough, considering the excess energon all around them. And the mech’s withdrawn demeanor.

“You did,” said Ironhide, visibly eyeing him up and down.

“Yes,” said Prowl.

“How?” Ironhide asked.

“I took a piece of metal from the ship—” Prowl gestured to torn up scraps of metal scattered around them “—and killed them.”

Apparently, that was enough proof for him. Ironhide nodded and lowered his weapon. Prowl eased his doorwings down from their threatening position in response. A likely useless gesture. Most mechs didn’t know how to read doorwings.

“You’re going to need to come with me then, mech,” said Ironhide.

Autobots didn’t waste time.

Prowl inclined his head to him, then turned to Bodyfist.

“I suspect we won’t see each other again. It’s been unpleasant, but I’m sure your company would be more appreciated under normal circumstances,” said Prowl.

“Uh,” said Bodyfist. “Same, I guess.”

That done, Prowl turned back to Ironhide. He said, “Well then, I submit myself to your authority, Autobot Ironhide.”

At least he wasn’t put in shackles.

Yet.


End file.
